


Lapsang Souchong

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gift Fic, Gloves, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dori and Balin are supposed to have chamomile together, but Balin has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lapsang Souchong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iraya/gifts).



> First Dori/Balin fic. Bit rushed.

“Put away your things, my gem.”

Dori raised his eyebrows. “Why? We were meant to sit to tea together.”

“We may do that later.”

Normally this would not be a problem, but he and Balin had planned this particular evening for some weeks. The end of winter was always a busy time for both of them so shared moments were especially precious. Balin was aware of this. “You know very well that –”

Balin’s hand came up over Dori’s mouth, pressing firmly. He swallowed heavily, the sharp smell of leather filtering through his nose. His eyes widened as he watched Balin lift his left forefinger to his lips.

Oh, so it was going to be like that, was it?

He was about to make a protest but Balin had leaned down and slid his hand down his neck as he touched their lips together. Dori gasped raggedly when Balin pressed his gloved thumb across his throat. The leather was supple and soft from years of use; they’d been maintained well, as was Balin’s way. Balin always took his time.

Or, almost always, as it turned out – because Dori found himself on his knees before he fully realised what’d happened. He sat back on his heels, gazing up at Balin. “I am far too old for this.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I rather think I’ll be doing that,” he replied loftily, giving a pointed look to the tell-tale bulge at the front of Balin’s trousers.

“No,” Balin said, stroking Dori’s cheek, “I will take care of you.” There was tenderness in his voice, but also _heat_ that had Dori stiffening in anticipation. He wondered what exactly was being promised and watched raptly as Balin disrobed.

It was a sight he’d been treated to many a time over the decades, and he knew the hills and valleys of Balin’s body as well as he did his own; all the scarred and unmarred skin, the scars and burns, the hard muscle and the soft flesh, the hair and the piercings. For now, though, the prize was Balin’s cock, curved slightly and stood to attention and oh-so-conveniently at level with Dori’s mouth.

Without even thinking he was leaning forwards; his fingers glided up Balin’s shins and his knees and settled on his upper thighs. He very lightly kissed the crown of his cock.

Balin was extremely careful not to move and the unspoken instruction was clear; continue.

Dori smiled and inclined forwards again, letting the tang of precome spread across his tongue. Not an unfamiliar taste and, Mahal, he didn’t want it to ever be. He steadied the base of Balin’s cock as he took more of it into his mouth.

A heavy hand dropped onto the back of his neck; Dori hummed around Balin, pleased. He started to bob his head, slowly, taking more and more. His eyes were closed, going on sensation and memory; the weight and length and taste of Balin’s cock on his tongue, the smell of him, the musk amplified by proximity, the harsh breaths through his own nose and the quiet moans from above.

He let off and Balin’s hand tightened in warning, leather biting into his skin because Balin had not removed his gloves – but Dori swooped back down after barely a breath. He teased; his lips on the tip of Balin’s cock, tongue flicking and pushing into his slit.

Opening his eyes and glancing upwards, pride filled Dori as he watched Balin. His head had fallen forward and his cheeks were flushed beneath his beard, his mouth working as he growled pleas and praises and romantic obscenities, all blurred and unsteady. His hips were jerking ever so slightly and so Dori’s hands found the curve of his arse, squeezing and encouraging.

Now it was Balin’s turn for his eyes to snap open. He looked about to ask a question but Dori impertinently snatched the ability away by relaxing his throat as much as he could and swallowing Balin down to the root, far enough that his nose tickled the white curls at its base.

There may have been the barest graze of teeth thrown in as well.

Balin grabbed some of Dori’s braids to keep him in place, the other hand no longer holding but actively pulling as he actively _fucked_ Dori’s mouth. Within moments Dori’s jaw was aching and he was vaguely aware of spit dribbling down the corner of his mouth but he wasn’t interested in anything but keeping relaxed and sucking for all he was worth.

If he concentrated, he could feel the heartbeat in Balin’s cock as he could feel the tension building in his thighs, as his movements became faster and faster and faster. The wet, slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of his mouth made shivers run down Dori’s spine. He wanted to reach down between his own legs and touch himself, Balin’s promise be damned, but as if his thoughts had been read, Dori found himself being pushed back.

He let Balin’s cock slip from his mouth with a small _pop_ and a not-so-small amount of reluctance. “I haven’t finished,” he said hotly, needing to clear his throat to make his voice less hoarse, “and neither have you. So if you’ll let me continue –”

Balin again silenced him with fingers over his lips. “I mean to finish in you.”

Oh. Well, he wasn’t adverse to that at all. But, “You’d still be in me, like this.”

This was met with rolled eyes, and a pinch to the lobe of his ear.

They did not even bother retiring to the bedroom. Instead they remained in Dori’s sitting room. Balin had Dori draped over the back of a sofa, fingering him open; the only piece of clothing between them were the gloves still on Balin’s hands. Dori could feel every backstitch – not individually, they were going a little too quickly for that, but the slide of the thread was an extra layer of deliciousness.

Dori hoped that there would be time for tea after this, even if sitting down might be a little uncomfortable. He didn’t like his plans to be changed too much.

Since they had done this so many times before, Balin needed no prompting before he retrieved his fingers and lined his cock up, entering in one smooth stroke. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being filled like this, but with Balin it was just… indescribable. Dori’s breath hissed out of his nose. He reached around and positioned Balin’s hands so that they were on either side of his waist, where he preferred them, leather biting into his skin. Oh, it felt so good, but not as good as when Balin started moving.

He was in a hurried mood today, was Balin, going quickly enough that Dori was finding it difficult to catch his breath. His hips slapped against Dori’s arse, the movement disturbing the bangles Dori had chosen to adorn his wrists with today. Smacking and jangling echoed with sharp pants and soft moans.

There was the slightest of pauses, in which Balin pushed Dori’s legs further apart. He himself leaned forward so his chest was pressed to Dori’s back; the skin-warmed medallion he always wore was sandwiched between them. The rolling motion of his hips started up again, somehow harder, faster. Balin’s hand crept over one hip and Dori had a clash of fear, a flash, an image of gloved fingers locking at the base of his cock as Balin spent and denied him at the same time.

Instead Balin was benevolent and his palm was blessed friction against the head of Dori’s cock. It only took a few tugs – alongside the rough push and pull of the hard cock inside him – for him to spill warm and wet.

After Balin finished and they cleaned up, Dori was happy when Balin went to put the kettle on the fire, happy enough that he acceded to fetching Balin’s favourite lapsang souchong instead of chamomile (his own preference).

But what pleased him most was the stretch and burn along his body when he reached up; the ache awoke a hunger that only grew when Dori glanced over and saw that Balin was cleaning his gloves.

Mayhap they could busy themselves before sharing supper. But _after_ Dori finished a cup.

**Author's Note:**

> Ignore the impossibilities of lapsang souchong having that name in ME. Ssh ssh.


End file.
